


In the Room He Comes and Goes, Speaking of Michaelangelo

by Dragoncounsel121



Category: GOT7
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Markson if you squint, Red Light District
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:51:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoncounsel121/pseuds/Dragoncounsel121
Summary: Judgment (Upright): Decision making, Transition, Renewal, Redemption, Awakening, ReincarnationJaebeom can succinctly separate his life into the before and the after(sorry I signed up really late and this card didn't seem to be claimed so I went ahead and wrote something. I'm sorry if it turned out wrong)





	In the Room He Comes and Goes, Speaking of Michaelangelo

Jaebeom would never say that he’s been waiting for his prince charming since his awkward sexual awakening trying out for the school basketball team in middle school.

...But okay, he kind of has. 

He’s only 24. He’s allowed to have dreams. 

And a dream indeed this was, because nothing else could explain how Jaebeom remained conscious while his respiratory system promptly gave up on him. He’s being ridiculous, the dinky little ramyun shop he worked at was settled just on the corner of the entertainment district. Gorgeous people - men and women both - waltzed in all the time. He’s used to this. He’s stared down Jackson’s pleather clad ass crack looking for misbehaving panty lines between dance numbers. Objectively attractive men shouldn’t be able to do _ this _ to him anymore. 

But something was different about the boy who trailed in idly after one of their most well-known regulars, like a curious butterfly carried inside on the summer breeze. There was a very classic look to his face, like a Joseon noble. His features were fine-boned and elegant both strengthened by defined undeniably masculine brows and yet a softened by gentle cheekbones and a plush pink mouth. He wore no eye makeup, but Jaebeom couldn’t help counting every one of his long ink-black lashes anyways. There was a fragile, injured, quality to both them and the wide obsidian eyes they framed.

“Hey, Jaebeomie!” Jaebeom snapped out of his reverie to a very pointed look from Mark. The host wasn’t suited up yet, still in his staple skinny jeans and oversized T-shirt. “The usual for me, the works for the fresh meat.”

“Stop trying to talk like a bad crime drama,” Jaebeom rolled his eyes at the red-haired man, “no one here is dumb enough to be threatened by a professional alcoholic.”

“Just for that, I’m not introducing you. Shut up and give me my grease trap.” Mark put on the most terrifying angelic smile Jaebeom had ever seen and turned to address the beautiful boy who’d taken a seat next to him. “Ignore him, new kid. All you need to know is that ramyun guy is dumb, and doesn’t know a Rosini from a rosebush.”

And the pretty boy turned his haunting eyes at Jaebeom and _ laughed. _ Just a little, but it was enough. 

Whatever violent protest that had been forming in Jaebeom’s throat dissolved without so much as an aftertaste on his tongue along with the image of the porcelain aristocrat that sat in front of him. It ruined him, that awkward, but absolutely darling noise. The boy had such an emphatic “ha” sound to his laugh that clip-clopped along like a pony cantering over loose pebbles. It was dumb and goofy and the happiest sound that has ever graced Jaebeom’s ears. Mark’s chili oil ramyun paid for it with one too many spoonfuls of the condiment forming a thin but deadly layer of red over the top of his broth.

“You’re so lucky I’m good with spicy food, Jaebeomie.” Mark grumbled but nevertheless began to cut even more chili peppers into his bowl.

Jaebeom ignored him and instead focused on cutting a generous amount of roast pork slices for the new host’s bowl. His efforts earned him a cutely dimpled smile he will treasure for the rest of his days and the name “Park Jinyoung.”

Park Jinyoung...what a pretty name.

“Um...no it isn’t.” Jackson frowned at him severely. Unlike the hosts who tended to carb load before work in a desperate attempt to mop up what they can of the liters of alcohol they would be drinking later on the job, dancers like Jackson and his troupe tended to eat after the fact. So three times a week in the wee hours before the sun decides to finally rise, they would troop over to the ramyun shop in all their leather thigh-highs, corset topped, colorful wig glory. “That’s the same name as that dirty old guy who runs that shop with the animal dildos.”

“Ew, don’t even talk about that!” BamBam whined dramatically over his vegetable stir fry. “I’m eating over here!”

“If you can call that eating.” Yugyeom snickered at the side.

“You’re eating what’s basically chicken nugget ramyun and a chocolate milkshake, you don’t get to say shit.”

Jaebeom ignored them and went back to the least of the three evils. “You know perfectly well that’s not who I mean.”

Jackson laughed. “Oh, then you must be talking about the cute new kitten they have down at The Parlor.”

“So Mark brought him on the full round huh?” Jaebeom sighed.

Jackson jabbed him in the shoulder, “Hey my Markie is a good hyung! Of course, he brought him around to everyone! How are we supposed to recognize him half ODed and black and blue out in the alley if we don’t even know his face?”

“That escalated quickly.”

“The dangers of falling for a working boy, hyung.”

Jaebeom grunted and smacked him in retaliation. No one was _ falling. _

Park Jinyoung became another regular, sometimes trailing behind Mark with wide doe eyes and hands folded daintily to cradle his chin as he flutters his pretty pretty lashes at Jaebeom, sometimes all by himself with school books cradled in his thin arms and face framed by a pair of large rectangular glasses that make him look much more like the awkward student he was. Despite Jaebeom’s best efforts, it quickly got around that he was Jaebeom’s favorite and everyone on the strip made a habit of taking shameless advantage of the newest host to get free sodas or extra cheese on their ramen, to the point where even Jaebeom’s mother was laughing at him whenever the boy walked in.

Jinyoung took to calling him ‘hyung’ so easily, Jaebeom never notices it happening. The word sounded so natural in his mouth, just barely gentled by his soft country accent. In the same way, Jinyoung-ah feels just right in his tongue.

“You’ve never taken to someone this quickly Jaebeom-ah,” his mother giggled every so often. Jaebeom chose to ignore her. After all, sweet and polite Jinyoung is nothing like the rest of his snickering asshole friends. It was only natural that Jaebeom preferred him. 

Jaebeom knew he was in deep deep shit when he came on shift late one day to find Jinyoung pressed together with Youngjae at the very end of the bar with a history textbook between them.

People...aren’t good with Youngjae. All they saw were the threadbare T-shirts and weathered crutches. They never noticed the bright talented boy with a booming laugh and the voice of an angel. And if Jaebeom had another favorite it was definitely Youngjae. Only that didn’t count because Youngjae was _ family _, and Jaebeom would fight anybody who dared to say otherwise.

Seeing them curled together like kittens comparing Kim Hong Do to Michaelangelo, Jaebeom was a goner. 

“Hyuuuung,” Youngjae whined at him with stars in his eyes that night, “he’s a _ Monteverdi fan _ . If _ you _ don’t marry him _now _, I’m going to!”

His resistance dwindled more and more. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back came about three months after Jinyoung waltzed into his life like an elegantly dressed hurricane.

The strip had gotten used to Jinyoung by then, the kind of familiar that made the scent of home cling to a person like a possessive cat. He knew who his friends were and who to sidestep. He knew how to keep his head down for customers, but up to the sneering jeering streetwalkers. He’d acclimated so quickly it honestly made Jaebeom a little proud.

But the ball had to drop some time. 

Technically hosts aren’t supposed to have customers outside The Parlor, but the owner was someone who’s been in the business for too long to expect otherwise. As long as his boys kept it out of his sight, he wouldn't hassel them. But that meant he also didn't screen them or keep tabs to make sure they’re safe like when they’re on his turf. It’s their head on the line.

Everyone ran into at least one bad one.

So when he saw Jinyoung pressed against the rough brick wall of the back alley behind the shop, his vision bled crimson. The man was the usual type, big and bursting out of his ill-fitting brand name polo shirt, the jolly plump kind that pretended to be decent for the family and company name and then went home and paid to slap pretty little boys around to reaffirm his imaginary worth. 

He went down like a bitch. 

Jinyoung’s wrist felt thin in his hand, too delicate, too breakable, porcelain skin so easily bruised. There was one rapidly forming on his face too, ugly and swollen on the curve of his cheek in the shape of a hand. He looked so small as he clung to Jaebeom’s elbow, shivering like a leaf. Softly Jaebeom tucked the trembling boy into the crook of his arm and led him inside the shop. His mother took one look at them and nodded for him to end his shift early. 

He brought the boy upstairs into the tiny little apartment they shared and sat him on the most comfortable side of the shabby couch. By then Jinyoung had stopped shaking so much but when Jaebeom tried to get up to get him some water, the host curled around him like a vice and wouldn’t let go.

Jaebeom didn’t have the heart to insist.

So instead, he let Jinyoung’s head fall on his shoulder and cradled the boy against him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jinyoung shook his head, dampening Jaebeom’s collar with his tears. 

“...Okay, okay, you don’t have to. You’re safe now.”

Somehow in the intermittent hours between dark and dawn, Jinyoung fell into a fitful sleep against Jaebeom’s shoulder. Even like this, bruises and all, he looked like one of the fanciful marble sculptures he loves so much. Jaebeom wanted to hold him forever, kiss his forehead and tell him he’s alright. He wanted to be the shield that protected this beautiful creature from the ugly ugly world they lived in.

Mark came three hours early that afternoon.

“Your mom told me,” he said simply as he brushes past Jaebeom up the stairs. Jaebeom frowned but he followed Mark up the stairs nonetheless. 

Jinyoung was still wrapped in the haze between waking and sleep. He’d only minutes before released Jaebeom’s arm so the other boy could properly get up for work. Despite that his cute eye bags now matched the dark purple handprint on his cheek.

Mark hissed venomously but when he rushed over to the couch to examine his co-worker, his hands were gentle and slow. “I told you it wasn’t worth it, you dolt. I don’t care if your grandma’s fucking dog is dying and you need the money _ yesterday _, you’re worth jack shit if you ruin yourself!”

Jaebeom wanted to snap. He rammed his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place.

“Sorry, Mark-hyung.” Jinyoung ‘s voice is almost a whimper from his swollen lips.

It was dumb. It was_ dumb _. Because he knew what Mark meant, knew Mark was right, that no one gave a shit about hosts unless they were vaguely nice and looked pretty. They didn't care that Jinyoung has a cute goofy laugh, or was a coiffed and cologned fairy godmother to anyone under the age of twenty, or told history like they’re stories with drama and character and things that almost made Jaebeom regret going to work right after high school. 

“I told them I didn’t do...those things...I didn’t think…”

“Of course you didn’t! Or you’d have listened to me and Brian!” 

Jinyoung was so much.

“People are shit, Jinyoung, and nobody but yourself is gonna protect you from them. The sooner you learn this the longer you’ll _ live _.”

He deserved to be protected. 

“Does that bastard know where you live?”

“...He’s dropped me off at my building sometimes.”

Jaebeom’s nails dug so hard into his hands, he’s leaving red marks. If they'd had been polished and carefully manicured like Jinyoung’s sometimes were for over an hour nestled in a quiet booth at the back of the shop with all his school books, they would have torn into his flesh. 

“Fuck...you’re better off not going home tonight. Who knows if you'll get into more trouble.”

“I...there’s an...appointment.”

“Did you not just fucking hear me tell you to cut that shit? No more!”

“Hyung please, I...I can’t make rent without it. It’s the third month...”

It wasn't fair.

“You won’t make anything with your face like that anyway. Even if you start icing now and slather yourself in concealer, you can’t work the floor tonight. How are you going to meet your ‘personal’ customer? Who's your landlord?”

_ It wasn't fair _.

“It’s...it’s Old Man Yang.”

“..._ Fuck _. I can...”

Jinyoung’s little chuckle is so weak, so defeated. 

“Mark-hyung, you and BamBam share a _ studio _. If you try to cram another person in, you’ll end up throttling someone.”

“Jackson…”

“Is the impromptu set up and extra closet space for every stripper and drag queen this side of Han River. He has less space than you do.”

Mark turned his face away and downright snarled at Jaebeom’s coffee table and that _ never _ happens. 

“You could stay here,” Jaebeom said before he realized he'd opened his mouth. “Mom and I, we got room. This little joint held three of us before it could do it again.”

Both their attentions suddenly snapped back to Jaebeom as if they’d forgotten that he was there. 

“Are you sure, Jaebeom?” Mark recovered his voice first. Jaebeom nodded. 

“Shouldn't we ask your mom?” Jinyoung asked weakly. 

So they did. She told them they were ridiculous for asking. And Jinyoung, bruised, precious, lovely Jinyoung broke down into snotty ugly tears as he threw himself into the smiling woman’s arms promising that it’ll only be a while, that he’ll get out soon. Jaebeom’s mother only laughed and told him that the earlier he left, the more she’ll assume he hates her. Jaebeom had never felt warmer. 

Jinyoung became an even more permanent fixture in their lives.

He worked the shop in the mornings with Jaebeom, happily bussing dishes and occasionally even manning the orders when Jackson dragged half the neighborhood to their doorstep and Jaebeom had to join his mother in the back for them to have any hope of filling all those orders in a timely manner. What rent he gave Jaebeom and his mom are a mere facsimile of whatever tips he managed to pick up over the week, and they’re thinking of stopping it all the time, except that Jinyoung _ insisted _.

He took less and less hours and more off days as a host. All of those hours happened under the strict supervision of The Parlor’s well-built security staff. Mark was almost always smiling when he came in now - both for his prework ramen and to pick Jinyoung up so they could walk down to the Host club together. 

The kids, that is BamBam, Yugyeom, _ and _ Youngjae have attached to him like glue. Yugyeom and BamBam especially could be found getting underfoot during the slow mornings when Jinyoung tried to juggle both his dish duties and a handful of online classes. Every time, they inevitably derailed his efforts, and Jaebeom was prepared to bet it’ll take poor Jinyoung another decade or so to finally get that teaching license with these two hanging around. In the meanwhile, he got plenty of practice being Youngjae’s permanent cram school replacement and made a decent buck off that from Youngjae’s own harried parents who were all too glad to stop paying the scammers in bottom feeder downtown cram schools in favor of an aspiring teacher’s personalized attention, even if that personalized attention required Youngjae to do most of his homework in the booze scented prep room of a host club. 

With a sigh, he plopped down at the bar and watched the customers dig into their junk food with gusto, tossing insults across the room like they were never civilized. Among it all, Jinyoung flit from table to table, taking whatever teasing came his way with good-natured grumbling and filling the air with his awkward goofy laugh.

Their eyes met, and Jinyoung smiled a smile that crinkled his eyes and broke the light inside them into a million stars.

Jaebeom smiled back, utterly absolutely ruined.


End file.
